


your touch is my sin

by CaptainAmelia22



Series: Tumblr Drabble [6]
Category: Marvel 616, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: But I will never apologize for all the porn, Drabble, F/M, I should apologize for all the porn, Inspired By Tumblr, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:27:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainAmelia22/pseuds/CaptainAmelia22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night in Sarajevo he gets an idea for an update to the arm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your touch is my sin

**Author's Note:**

> Okay-my Russian is rudimentary at best. I do my best but there is always room for error. Forgive me and if something is really wrong, let me know. 
> 
> So this is just drabble-something I wrote for Kiran (americachavez/kiransingh) when she mentioned on one of her blogs that no one had written a fic about the low level vibrations in Bucky's arm. I love a challenge and decided I'd try the idea out. 
> 
> It took me a couple days (work has been brutal the past few weeks so nothing has been done that's actually worthwhile-god I'm sorry to the people waiting on updates to the epics) but I got it.
> 
> So here it is.
> 
> Love to all. 
> 
> Happy Holidays.
> 
> -M

Natasha gives him the idea for the update, one night in Sarajevo; they’re in bed, once more, after meeting with their contact in the Russian embassy and as is always the case with their partnership, they fuck to relieve the tension of Nick Fury’s mission.

Her eyes roll into the back of her skull as he scissors his fingers deep within her, thumb pressed tight to her clit and as she whimpers, bottom lip caught between her teeth, he rolls his shoulder so that the star glints in the late evening sunlight filtering through the cheap curtains covering the window.

He smiles at the thought that there is maybe something the Soviet’s toy is good for, besides spilling blood for whoever owns his alleigance.  The irony of said blessing is not lost on him as he eases a third finger deep beside his first two and she arches into the cool metal of his hand.  

"Prishli za mnoy, dorogaya,” he whispers, his lips pressed to her dark curls.  She writhes under his touch and curses him in Russian, her voice ragged and too loud in their seedy hotel room.  

“ _James_ ,” she pants between clenched teeth, her head arched back into her pillows and her pale throat bared in base surrender to him.  His breath catches at the sight of her coming undone around him and his eyes glitter in pleasure.  This is something he has never seen before, something he’s never witnessed in known memory, the Black Widow surrendering her body to another.  He thrusts his fingers harder, circules his thumb a little faster and smiles fiercely when she rocks desperately into his hand and moans,  _"Pozhaluysta, zakonchit yego.”_

His eyebrows rise at the Russian plea she lets slip, glances from her fluttering eyelids to his hand, the cool silver patina of the metal gleaming between her spread thighs and he chuckles.  

"Proklyatiye,” he breathes as he rocks his fingers and rubs the pad of his thumb gently over her clit; the moan that slips free of her clenched lips at such simple motions makes his skin prickle and though his own body was still enjoying the aftershocks of his own orgasm just moments before, he could feel himself hardening at the sight of her climax gripping her.  

"Natalia, you need to let go," he murmurs as he trails kisses over the pale skin of her inner thighs and strokes her over the brink.  Her chest heaves when another orgasm washes through her and he’s hard now.  Every muscle in his body tightens as her own responds to his touch-it takes all he has not to come right there, again, in the shadows of their Sarajevo hotel room-and he knows then, what he has to do when they get back to the States.  

“Khoroshaya devochka, Natalia,” he pants as he carefully withdraws his hand and her body finally collapses limply beside his.  He wraps his hand, still damp from his ministrations, around his hard cock and as she catches her breath beside him, he strokes himself firmly, thinking all the while of what he’s just witnessed.  

His brown eyes never leave her face, never leave her flushed and glistening body and as he comes in hot spurts, there in the tangled sheets of the bed they share in Sarajevo, he smiles dangerously.  

Her eyes narrow when she catches that grin and a winged brow arches as she turns to him, head cradled gently in the palm of her hand.  ”What are you thinking, James?” she asks as he reaches out to tuck a sweat-dampened curl behind her ear.  

He presses his forehead to hers and rests his hand against the back of her skull, pulling her gently into his chest.  ”I was just thinking about how the only time I hear you speak Russian is when we fuck, Natalia,” he says, his voice rough as her fingers toy with the hair on his chest and the scars on his shoulder.  Green eyes flash up to his, a faint shadow of fear flickering in their dark depths and he kisses her.  ”I like it,” he murmurs and she eases once more into his arms.  

Her fingers bump over the metal ridges in his arm, over the edges of the white star in it’s blue circle and he wonders at the loving expression on her face as she touches him.  ”Why do you let me touch you with it?” he asks after a long moment, even though he thinks he knows why.  

She glances up at him, her brow furrowed slightly and then she chuckles.  

"It would be obvious, James," she murmurs as she pushes against the metal, forcing him onto his back.  "If you were a woman," she finishes with a kiss to his jaw and a rough hand to the hair at the back of his head.  

He runs his hand up her side, the metal glinting against her pale skin and she shudders as he presses the heel of his palm into the side of her breast.  ”The technology,” he says with a crooked grin as she kneads her fingers into his chest, nails biting into his skin and his scars.  ”It’s something about the arm, isn’t it?”

She nods after a moment and then lowers her lips to his ear.  ”Vibrations, James,” she whispers as she kisses the outer shell and trails her lips up his stubbled jaw.  ”The arm has low level vibrations.”

He laughs at that and rests his hand on the swell of her ass, where it presses into her soft skin and keeps her firmly in place against his hips.  She rocks into him, challenge in her gaze and leans up to nip at the hollow beneath her ear.  ”So I’m just a walking vibrator, is that what you’re saying, Natalia?” he says, humor in his voice as he starts rubbing small circles into her skin. “That’s all I’m really good for, then?” he growls against her throat.

She smiles and presses a kiss to his as his touch firms and the muscles of her body begin to tighten against his.  "I won’t tell Barton if you won’t," she murmurs with the dying sunlight of Sarajevo haloing her perfectly and the dark shadows of desire once more growing in her emerald eyes.

His arm moves up her spine, over her shoulder and the back of his knuckles stroke the slope of her cheek as he moves to grip her chin firmly between his metal fingers; their eyes lock as he pulls her head down for another kiss, whispering when their lips meet, “Etot chertov yastreb.”  

She snorts and smacks him lightly, murmuring as he kisses her jaw, “He’s just jealous of you James.”  Her smile grows as his eyes widen and she pats his chest as she slides free of his body and begins heading towards the bathroom.  ”He’s not a walking dildo,” she tosses over her shoulder with an imperious shake of her head and a catty wink in his direction.  

He chokes out a laugh as the door closes on her and drapes an arm over his eyes.  ”Fuck,” he breathes.  ”Ty slishkom gluboko, Barnes. Yeblya.”  

The arm hums as he raises it before his eyes and he frowns thoughtfully at the scratched and tarnished metal for a moment.  Then, with a fierce grin he makes a fist and rolls off the bed.  

She’s in the shower when he eases silently in the bathroom but she doesn’t jump or even respond when he slips in behind her and trails the pads of his cool metal fingers down her spine.  

"James," she sighs as he presses against her and moves his hand down over the bones of her hip to press firmly against her curls.  "We have to start getting ready for the gala." 

He smiles and nuzzles his nose into her wet hair, murmuring as he does, “I’m getting an update done when we get back to the States, Natalia.”  

She glances back at him, that damn imperious brow arched as her lips curl.  ”Oh?” she asks as his fingers press between her folds.  ”What kind of update James?” 

Humor colors her tone, makes her eyes sparkle and it is something he loves about Natasha Romanoff.  The dark humor and the blatant challenge she is never afraid to exhibit when it comes to them and fucking in Eastern Europe’s showers.  

“Chto-to dlya vas, moy Chernaya Vdova,” he whispers as she arches into his touch and he leans into her, his lips pressed to the juncture of throat and shoulder.  ”Just for you, Natalia.”

"Good boy, James," she whispers back as her legs begin to tremble and his fingers stroke her gently.  "Vy khoroshiy chelovek.”

His snort is the only sound, besides the water falling around them and her eyes close as she leans into him, into the warming metal of his hand. 

 


End file.
